User blog:TylwythTeg/Night vision
Around the start of Wintumber, Year 7 of the Sixth Age. Some time after midnight. Branwen's House. Meilyr Quarter. Prifddinas. "Fynnien." Fyn's eyelids fluttered, but she remained asleep. "Oh, Fynnien." The elf-maid stirred slightly, and snuggled closer to Tristan, who lay beside her. "What," she mumbled, still mostly unconscious. Tristan didn't stir. "Wake up, Fynnien..." That voice... it was young, male, soft, and very familiar... but it wasn't Tristan's. It wasn't even speaking Elvish. With an unpleasant jolt Fyn suddenly realised who it was. Her eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright. "Eric?!" He was there. Standing right in front of her. In the middle of Tristan's bedroom. Fyn swore in shock and fright, and grabbed at the duvet to cover her front. Eric smiled flirtatiously. "Hello, Fynnien." His voice was strangely echo-y. He looked so pale in the cold winter moonlight he might almost have been a ghost. Fyn found that her heart was pounding furiously. This wasn't just stalking. Something was... off. "What - where - how did you get in here?!" Beside Fyn, Tristan sat up groggily, disturbed by the noise. "Fyn... it's just a bad dream. It's alright." He put an arm around her, not really opening his eyes. "I've got you. Come back to bed." Fyn shook Tristan off, while Eric observed them with amusement, saying nothing. "No, Tristan - Tristan, look!" Sighing, Tristan rubbed his eyes, and stared where Fyn was pointing. Then he looked at her, and then back again. "It's... my wardrobe?" "No, you - what?!" "He can't see me," Eric remarked languidly. "Or hear me for that matter." Ignoring Tristan's protestations, Fyn grabbed her knives from her pile of clothes beside the bed, holding them defensively in front of her, warning Eric off. Eric just blinked at her. She'd catch on eventually. "Something in the wardrobe?" Tristan muttered. He slipped out of bed, past Fyn, making as if to pad over to the far side of the room - but Fyn grabbed at him, almost accidentally stabbing him in the process. "Tristan, no, look out, he's right there!" Tristan sprang away from his lover with a yelp, dodging the diamond-sharp Tarddian blades. "Fyn, by the stars, be careful! It's alright. Look..." Before she could protest again, he had walked straight through the ghostly apparition of Eric in the middle of the room, and was already at the wardrobe. Eric held up his arms theatrically, as if to say - "see?" - while Tristan opened the wardrobe, rummaged around for a moment, then stood back to unhelpfully show Fyn that there was nothing there. Eric stood back too so Fyn could see clearly past him to Tristan. "See?" said Tristan. "Nothing but clothes. Nothing to be af- by the stars, Fyn, what on earth is the matter?!" Fyn's face was deathly pale. Her eyes were wide and she was trembling as she looked from Eric to Tristan and back again. "You... you really can't see him at all?" Tristan looked where Fyn was staring, then back at her. "Fyn, there's... really nothing there..." "He's actually wrong, of course," cut in Eric, obviously enjoying this. "Well. Sort of. I mean, it's true that I am not actually here. But you're not mad, nor dreaming. I really am speaking to you. It's just that I am choosing to speak only to you - marvellous trinket, this little orb of Mathonwy's." Fyn stared at him in disbelief as his words sunk in. Eric had Mathonwy's crystal ball? But how? "It... it was you? You were one of the Mourners who stole it from me? That's how you've been hiding from the authorities?" Eric scoffed. "Pff, no, don't be silly. I was barely aware of the existence of that particular group at the time - although Mathonwy had mentioned them to me once or twice. I gather he had been friends with their leader for years, since way back during your Elven Civil War... or did you think it was pure coincidence that you ran into him for the first time so soon after your escape from West Ardougne all those years ago? Mathonwy always did have friends in high places among the Dark Elves..." "Why are you here, Eric?" snarled Fyn. For her the memory was not one to be raked up lightly and discussed casually. Tristan started at her mention of Eric's name. "Wait... Eric? Wasn't he the human who helped Mathonwy kidnap you for the second time? ... or was it the third..." Fyn rolled her eyes at Tristan briefly before turning her attention back to Eric. Eric sighed. His tone changed. "Look... Fyn. I am sorry. I know this must be hard for you to believe, but... Mathonwy used me too. Your friends told you how they found me, right? Stabbed through the mouth with a giant crystal shard? That was him. That's how he treats his helpers when he has no further use for them. Your creepy necromancer buddy is the only reason I'm still alive. "I know you have no reason to trust me after what I did. But... you gave me a chance before. You made her turn me over to the authorities, and made sure I had a fair trial. I hope you won't hold it against me that I... well. You know. Escaped. Obviously. "But, look. I kind of owe you, and... I wanted to make it up to you. So, I stole it. Mathonwy's orb. Er, I mean-! Stole it back. From the Mourners who took it. To give back to you." Fyn stared at him. Her initial shock was over. Eric was as charming as ever - he put her at ease despite herself. But when she spoke she kept her tone cold and impatient. "So, where is it then? The orb?" Eric shrugged evasively. "Weeeellll, with this bounty on my head for conspiracy to abduct - er - you, I can't exactly just stroll into Prifddinas and hand it over. You are going to have to come and get it." Fyn laughed. "Oh, is that all. Well certainly, I'll just come straight over to some secluded spot of your choosing. What could possibly go wrong? You kidnapped me!!" Tristan facepalmed, mumbling something like "can't be serious." Eric shrugged. "What can I say... I'm sorry? I did that for Mathonwy - and you know what he was like. But - he betrayed me! And, what's more - he's stone dead. I happen to know you killed him yourself - so if anyone should be afraid, it's me! Look - I promise, I am not after anything... well, except maybe the very faintest beginnings of forgiveness. I just want to try and make things right between us, okay? This was the best thing I could think of. I know you well enough to know why you want this stone so badly." Fyn flinched. It was probably true. Eric always had been a brilliant reader of people - and she did have a bit of a tendency to wear her heart on her sleeve with some matters. Eric observed her carefully before continuing. "Now... unfortunately, like all crystal artefacts, I don't think this thing has unlimited charge. Since only Mathonwy knew how to sing anything like it, it would be a shame if it reverted to seed before I was able to give it to you. It also only works one way; so the only way you can contact me is by doing what I say. I know you've been searching for me for months. If you want to talk, come and find me tomorrow evening in the second clearing to the north of Port Tyras. Oh, and Fynnien..." Eric glanced at Tristan, and then back to her, folding his arms meaningfully. "If you want me to actually show up, then for goodness' sake... come alone." Before Fyn could even reply, Eric flickered... and disappeared. For a moment she continued just staring. Then she dropped her knives and put her head in her hands. Tristan came over, placing a hand on her shoulder cautiously. "Is... is it over? Are you alright?" For a moment, the distressed bundle of Fyn was as stiff and uncommunicative as a rock-face - and in a heartbeat, Tristan's mind flew back to everything that had ever gone wrong between them, all the times she hadn't let him in, and he felt the sudden sharp memory of despair, and his blood almost ran cold. Then all the tension was gone from her body, her arms were wrapped around his chest, and her face was buried in his neck; and he was holding her close and stroking her hair and telling her he would be with her no matter what. Fyn squeezed him tighter and wondered how much to tell him. Category:Blog posts